The Soul Of A Murderer Is Blind

We Are Rebels For A Cause, Poets With A Dream , And We Won't Let This World Die Without A Fight.

Love Is The Kind Of Illness That Does Not Spare The Intelligent Or The Dull.

The World Is Never Quiet, Even Its Silence Eternally Resounds With The Same Notes, In Vibrations Which Escape Our Ears. As For Those That We Perceive, They Carry Sounds To Us, Occasionally A Chord, Never A Melody.

Working Conditions For Me Have Always Been Those Of The Monastic Life: Solitude And Frugality. Except For Frugality, They Are Contrary To My Nature, So Much So That Work Is A Violence I Do To Myself.

Every Man, And For Stronger Reasons, Every Artist, Wants To Be Recognized. So Do I.